Automaton
by winteress2712
Summary: Brendan Brady lives in London with his Father Seamus Brady, a famous inventor who is required to create a group of mechanical soldiers who are due to be recruited for the army in replacement of current serving troops. One night, when a rebellious Brendan decides to break into his Father's laboratory, he locks eyes with a fine creation in which his father has came to call Steven Hay
1. Synopsis

**Synopsis: **It's 2092. Brendan Brady lives in London with his Father Seamus Brady, a famous inventor who is required to create a group of mechanical soldiers who are due to be recruited for the army in replacement of current serving troops. One night, when a rebellious Brendan decides to break into his Father's laboratory, he locks eyes with a fine creation in which his father has came to call "Steven Hay".


	2. Prologue

**Warnings:** Abuse, suggestions of rape.

**Prologue:**

His earliest memories formed barely even a blank canvas, yet they consisted of his mother's daily spoon-feeding routine of seedless jam; countless sleepless nights as tiny ears failed to block out the overwhelming sound of raised voices and then there were the sheets of fine cotton fabric which one day came to be hung loosely above his nape and sprawled across the width of both shoulders. Regardless, he remembered well enough the day of his mother's death to exact precision. The cognizance was always there, and after making its bed in Brendan's hippocampus, the apprehension of it all had stuck with him to present day. Every now and then the unsettling memory of his late mother's demise would depart and Brendan would be forced to reminisce with such unease that his bottom lip would tremble and Brendan's father would feel obliged to remind him of what it meant to be masculine; truly masculine.

He was not yet fourteen months, a fleshy, rotund tot still yet to teethe but able to toddle in unsteady strides whenever placed in the 'safe' hands of either one of his puppet masters. In early days, a nurse had mentioned how Brendan was of the utmost ideal bulk because he slotted beneath his mother's breasts perfectly. This was frequently notified whenever he was clasped within her secure embrace. But still, Brendan could feel the bond between him and his mother grow distant; albeit obscure. Breastfeeding became a rare thing, and Brendan wasn't sure whether to put this down to his significant growth in body mass and the expansion of chubbiness in his cheeks or the prone issue of exhaustion. Sometimes she would go disappearing for days and Brendan would be forced to consume clumpy powered solution which his father would carelessly pour down his throat. Subsequently, followed the objectionable winding session, which occasionally did leave Brendan feeling truly winded.

The concluding chapter, according to Brendan's trustworthy intellect, came on June the 22nd of that same year. Holding him up in her feeble strength his mother had attempted to breastfeed him again though she was reluctant to even allow half a teat. Instead she settled for brief osculation and as Brendan cooed delightedly; his gurgles burred around formative syllables. As her lips a cold tinge of blue, like pale lapis lazuli, reached desperately for the summit of his crown, Brendan strummed his infant hand through her smooth jungle of tress and with it several clumps were effortlessly detached from her cranium. Then she closed her eyes.

"London," his father, before long, interrupted. "We're going to London." Her eyes reopened.

"What about the treatment Seamus?" she said Irish cadence undulating off her tongue.

"Well… there'll still be treatment offered in London."

"No," she said, words lost against the surface of Brendan's velvety skin, "No Seamus." They shared that similarity. The baby oil she'd use after bath time had been beneficial for the both of them.

"No what?"

"You know I don't have long left… and I want to be buried in Ireland."

"Listen… ye know how much this opportunity means to me," he lamented callously.

"I need him near me Seamus even after I go" she glowered at her baby "I want him close to me okay. Promise me the pair of you will remain in Dublin."

For a while neither of them said a thing. But Seamus gradually rattled his devilish dome in agreement. An unsettled Brendan could sense that he was indubitably skeptical.

His mother closed her eyes again and this time they did not reopen. They will never re-open.

But Brendan knew, Brendan knew from experience that it was afterwards when things got harder. When life continued. They said it was supposed to get easier but it never did.

Day after day time went by; but nothing ever changed. The same lectures, the same judgmental glares, the same biblical recitals and nights down the pub downing whiskey and the unbearable loneliness that came with being an only child and days and days and days without sleep. And Brendan was sick of it.

That's when Seamus decided to move. One more visit to his wife's grave and there was a finality which almost certainly marked the end of life in Dublin.

"I know I made a promise but I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

His father had told him that he'd met a girl. "Just so ye know, I shall not call her my mother Da. Only one woman was ever my mother," Brendan said. It was a lie. What Seamus really moved for was the work. But Brendan didn't know that. All Seamus ever told him was one thing; something really important.

"See this room boy? Ye must never cross the threshold. If ye ever do, there will be severe consequences. Do ye understand?"

All this threat ever meant to Brendan was words. Random words strung together to make a sentence. It didn't mean anything. His father would never touch him; not that he saw him enough to do so. He may as well of been absent. He was never there, not like Brendan would've liked. He wasn't there through the process of teething, the flushing of cheeks, the endless dribbling, the fever and the diarrhea which lasted for days and nights on end until Brendan was delirious from the lack of sleep. He wasn't there to pick him up after his first day at school and he certainly wasn't there for him now.

Rationally, Brendan knew it was just another tool Seamus had issued to try and keep control. When Brendan was younger, Seamus had warned him that he wasn't allowed to colour; colouring was for girls. If he were ever to colour, then he'd get landed with a slap. And he wasn't allowed to wear pink, or dance or sing or bake or keep any "cuddly" teddy bears within his possession. It would be embarrassing not only for his father but also for himself. Brendan had no reservations with obeying his father's instructions back then so why did he no longer care?

"Da, what do you do in there all day?" Brendan would often ask him. "Shhh," he'd drone in avoidance, a lone finger forcefully landing its way over the entrance of Brendan's mouth.

In time, Brendan grew bored of this clandestine affair and curiosity would soon enough shape itself into a question mark and Brendan had to know… he just had to know:

From across the ill-favored room a solitary pair of eyes watched the surrounding white washed walls cautiously. Though they cut him off from his new found territory and drove him down the misleading path of something clinical, Brendan wasn't sure what to make of his firsthand rebellious unearthing. Anyone who didn't know of his father's wealth may have misinterpreted the lack of colour as an inability to afford a decent can of coloured paint but all Brendan could put it down to was laziness. The familiar scent of old plastic rammed its way through his nostrils and seeped into his skull. Blue, a shade of faded denim and somber the eyes flew from one side of the room to the other, taking in everything; observantly. Not a detail escaped through the gaps which lay in between his fingertips yet past the indentation of the mind above, those eyes were afraid. It took no genius to realize the sense of fear. For Brendan, it was just simple knowledge. "I shouldn't have gone this far," the eyes thought "maybe I should run…" A proceeding silhouette crept in. It contributed towards the sensation of drowning and left Brendan somewhat alone in the darkness…

"You're…you're a scientist?" he cowered.

"An inventor…" One hand slid up Brendan's neck, pulling him back up to full height before cupping his cheeks into a caricature of affection. "Why couldn't ye have been a good boy? Like yer mother would've wanted?"

Life changed for Brendan after that. The intrusion of something being forced so brutally into his guts, his masculinity and dignity being tested and simultaneously threatened whilst the most intimate parts of his body were being exposed and abused by somebody who was supposed to protect him, led him onto believe that he no longer had a purpose.

Seamus decisively pulled out, a disarray of semen and blood trickling sloppily down bare legs.

"Light…" Brendan whimpered, hollow and desperate he reached for the illuminated glow which was visible through the doorway; his escape route.

"Ye will learn to do as I say," Seamus whispered, tone patronizing and words carefully moderated purred against Brendan's neck. "Next time you go back in there, you won't ever see light again, do ye understand?"

**Authors note:** Thank you so much for reading. Hopefully now the next chapter will make a lot more sense. I know this took a long time for me to publish after my "coming soon" announcement, but unfortunately I got caught up in a pointless month of mock exams; my apologies on my schools behalf. : -) x


End file.
